Two Knocks
by The Little Cog Girl
Summary: After each episode there are things we miss. Lets follow the blogger and his friend in their time between shots. Romance and slash shall ensue. SH/JW. This was partially inspired by The Marry Russell books.
1. Post Pink

Special thanks goes to___**Sherlockedmyheart**_ for their Beta. I could not appreciate you more. Thank you so very, very much!

These are not mine in so many ways that I cannot disclaim them all.

Authors Notes will be found at the end. Please excuse my spelling mistakes, I'm dyslexic and my beta, however lovely, simply cannot catch everything.

Two Knocks

It would happen sometimes. At night. Long after the rest of the street had gone to bed. Mrs. Hudson's snores floated upstairs, the sound of taxies' fairs stumbling to their doors, all amplified by the stillness of the night air. It. Two knocks. A light knock on my bedroom door, a pause then another light knock. Then his voice, as soft as it ever got, calling "John, are you awake?"

The first time it happened I hardly knew what to expect. Just a few weeks after moving in I had finally gotten something like normal sleep though the night when there was a knock. Then a pause as he shifted his weight and the floor boards creaked. A second knock and the call, "John, are you awake?"

It couldn't possibly be Sherlock Holmes.

It couldn't possibly be the man who could play violin, literally for days on end, without a care for those who live with him.

This couldn't be the man who left body parts in the fridge.

Or his lab kit on the kitchen table.

Or his mail pined with a dagger to the mantel.

Or any of the thousands of other frustrating things this man does.

This simply couldn't possibly be Sherlock Holmes, the man I know.

But it was...

"Please, John?" Sherlock's voice called, a raw edge penetrating the night.

Sighing I glanced at the alarm. 2:00AM blinked at me, bright red in the pitch black. Even in a groggy state my mind grasped the importance of his using please.

"Yes, Sherlock, what could it possibly be at two o'clock in the bloody morning?" For it wasn't a case otherwise he would have just barged in or started yelling for me. No, this was something else entirely...

The door opened a crack, light leaking in from the night light in the hall. His face striking in the dark.

"Hold my hand, John."

"What?" I said, blinking as I propped myself up on my elbow.

The door squeaked as he opened it the rest of the way, long stride brining him to my bedside in two steps. His frame folded in on itself, sitting cross legged on the floor by my bed, his eyes fixed on mine.

"Hold my hand."

Sighing again I complied, lying back down as I stretched out my arm. He quickly warped his massive had around my thumb. He curled into himself even as I tried to relax again. Did this man's eccentricities know no bounds? I was simply too tired to fight him. Besides I needed to be at the clinic in too few hours from now.

"What happened to being married to the job?" I asked.

"What happened to not being gay?" He snapped back.

I shut up. It was 2:00AM and I was holding my flat mates hand. His larger, oddly feminine, warm hand. A hand I imagined doing rather naughty things when I started to daydream. I dismissed the thought and tried to relax and fall asleep again. Drifting off I vaguely wondered what could have possibly sparked this.

By the time the next morning rolled round Sherlock was gone from my room.

The days went by as normally as a day living with the one and only Sherlock Holmes could go.

AN:

Again, thanks for the Beta!

Please disregard my other work and profile. I opened this account when I began middle school and I have sense graduated high school. I can't bare to delete the memories but I am a different person now.

This was inspired by the Marry Russell series by Laurie R. King. If you like Sherlock you must go read those books now and report back. Go on now, get reading! Its officially published and well done Mary Sue Sherlock Fanfic. You's guys are fans. Get going.


	2. Twice Blinded

And the award goes too... My beta, the one, the only, _**Sherlockedmyheart**_!

More AN to come at the end, for now I present...

Two Knocks, Ch. 2 Twice Blind

The days went by as normally as a day living with the one and only Sherlock Holmes could go.

The second time was just after the events of 'The Blind Banker'. One of the nights I slept alone at 221B Baker Street, there came the two knocks.

"John, are you awake?" Sherlock called softly.

Sighing, I thought over saying no. Concluding that he would simply barge in anyway, so I said, "Yes, come in."

The door swiftly opened, and Sherlock was framed by the light as he stood in the doorway.

"Let me sleep in your bed." The baritone demanded.

"Only if you close the door behind you." I replied, resigned to this fate.

After a few quick strides, he was in my bed. He sat, curling into himself on the edge. I turned my head I looked at his curls. Suddenly I wondered how they smelt. How they would feel if I ran my hand though them. What he would say if I did...

I closed my eyes and dismissed the thoughts. I tried to pretend he wasn't there. I tried to pretend holding his hand did not feel better than holding Sarah's hand. Damn Sarah. Everything was going so well but our relationship was still failing. Whether it was Sherlock's interruptions, or my own failures I didn't know. I didn't want to know. I just wanted it to work for once.

"It won't work. Move on." Sherlock's voice drifted up in the dark.

"How'd you know that was what I was thinking of? Never mind, don't tell me. Why do you think it won't work out? We're fine." Even I knew that I emphasized the fine a little too much.

"The worry lines on your face say otherwise. The body language when you're together says she wrote you off subconsciously, sooner than latter she'll figure that out." Said Sherlock in an almost bored tone. He stretched out flat on his back forcing me to move over, his hands behind his head.

"Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about. Your not even interested in women so what would you know about this sort of thing anyway?" My voice sounded desperate even to my ears. He turned to look me in the eye.

"I never said I wasn't interested, just that they weren't my forte. Also I am very good at noticing the world and people around me." Sherlock said as his eyes burned into mine. "So much so that I created my own job of Consulting Detective. I am brilliant. Don't ever doubt that." The sharp edge in his voice emphasized every word.

He looked away and squeezed my hand once.

"But you're not interested are you?"

There was a conspicuous silence after that.

I tired again in a few minutes, "Sherlock, are you interested in women?"

Nothing. No response.

I looked down and saw that he had fallen asleep, with no pillow, hands cradling his head. I resisted the urge to pet his hair and looked away. The man was an egocentric (granted with resin), insomniac, self described high functioning sociopath who was probably in reality on the autism spectrum. Yet I put up with him.

Glancing back I resisted the urge to touch his hair. I counted sheep the rest of the night, deliberately ignoring the urge to touch the man sitting not one foot away from me and the startling heat in my belly.

I woke up the next morning remembering parts of a dream; soft lips on my forehead saying they loved me, fingers stroking my cheek, someone's forehead pressed to mine nose to nose...

There came the click of the door and I opened my eyes.

That couldn't have been...? No. No. Never. He would never... He didn't think like that. The bastard was as asexual as they come. He'd never guess what feelings are like, especially this sort. Never. It was a dream. A dream, I instead to myself. It could never be, would never be, anything else.

When I made my tea Sherlock refused to look at me, even as I handed him his morning cup.

AN:

Thanks to my beta, for she is of the editing species we need and love so dearly.

Thank you for reading! Don't be disappointed about the M rating yet, I promise you there be smut ahead...

I'd like you to meet my good friend Usa-Chan.

(V)

o.o

("')("')

Please help Usa-Chan take over the world by posting him as far and wide as possible.


	3. Great Revelations

As always my beta _**Sherlockedmyheart **_deserves most of the credit here. At least in terms of spelling. Thank thee much!

AN at end.

Two Knocks, Ch 3 Grate Revelations

Life marched on, until the events of 'The Grate Game'. Once we finally got to the flat on that faithful day, after Lestrade had tried to help with the police and then Mycroft swept in to retrieve them, Sherlock turned to me. He knocked twice on the door frame.

"John," Sherlock said, "Don't ever be kidnapped again."

And then my back was too the door and his mouth was on mine in a kiss. My hands wrapped around his lapels pulling him closer. His arms were braced against the door on either side of my head.

Our mouths danced.

With rhythm opening and closing, heat transferred between. Then his tongue brushed my lips and I opened wide. In went Sherlock's tongue exploring my mouth, and then mine in his. We were panting by then. His forehead was pressed against mine, nose to nose, and he whispered between breaths, "I almost lost you. I had just found you and I almost lost you..."

"I'm here." I cooed, resting my hands on his shoulders. Tears ran down his cheeks landing on my head as he took me into an embrace. He kissed the top of my head, stroking my back. I pulled him closer.

All of a sudden he broke away, clearing his thought he said, "Sorry…that was out of line." He looked away and down. His hand ran though his hair, tears still in his eyes. His body sagged. He looked as defeated as a human possibly could, still damp from the pool, debris stuck to his clothes from the exposition.

And then I spoke honestly, "That wasn't out of line at all. I wasn't going to make the first move. Hell, I wasn't going to admit I was interested in you. I joined the Army, invaded Afghanistan, trying to play the macho man. I hit on women just to be rejected. I have every relationship fall apart no matter how good things were. All trying to deny I'm interested in men. Everyone knows though. Absolutely everyone. Mrs. Hudson knows for Christ sake! My sister Harry's been teasing me about sense we were kids! The joke on base was that I was insecure about two things liking men and my height and only one of those was true. I never once complained of my height."

My mind eventually caught up with my mouth at that point. Sherlock was staring at me, mouth hanging open. There were streaks on his cheeks where tears had flowed unimpeded. His mouth slowly stared to curl into a smile. I slid down the door and held onto my knees.

"Shit." I said, "I just said that out loud didn't I?"

In a single bound he was next to me, pulling me up again, holding me close.

Stunned I simply whimpered into his shoulder, "God, I'm gay. I've had all this straight sex with wonderful women and always knew something was wrong but I liked it and society liked it so I kept at it denying. Always denying…fuck." Tears started to trickle down my face, at that point.

Sherlock in turn snuggled his face into my shoulder and began kissing the skin under my ear. He rubbed my back as I cried, and let me go on a bit. Eventually his mouth reached my ear and he said, "But that means you can be mine." And bit the top of my ear.

That stopped me crying.

He started to rock us back and forth, forcing me to shuffle my feet in a half dance.

"I will not allow," Sherlock's voice in my ear said as we moved into a proper dance step. "You to cry," At this he twirled me out and brought me in again and we fell back into the rhythm of the dance, the music must have been playing in Sherlock's head, "If you are mine." And suddenly we were snogging against the door.

Before I knew what was happening he had hoisted my legs up around his middle, kissing me as he did so, whilst he carried me into the living room and stumbled into the couch. He dropped me, and was quickly on top, kissing, hands flying to pull my shirt off.

"Sherlock where on earth did you learn how to do this?" I asked breathlessly. Sherlock's mouth found the perfect spot on my neck and bit. I was going to have a large bite in the morning but that was unimportant. My hands were on his shirt as I assessed whether or not it could be saved. I decided it couldn't, so I ripped it off. The buttons flew scattering about the couch and bouncing off the floor. I ran my hands over Sherlock's chest, his breath caught in his throat.

"I experimented." He hissed, panting as his hand ran over my own chest, deftly finding a nipple and rubbing circles around the areola coaxing the tip to harden. He quickly did the same to the other side and kissed me again. He deepened the kiss and our mouths opened together in rhythm.

I broke the kiss and breathing harder and suppressing a moan I asked, "With whom would Sherlock Holmes experiment with?"

"Sex workers," He was kissing my neck and chest and my breath hitched, "They make excellent spies and I was curious." His mouth found my nipple, tongue spiraling in to run around the areola and once the nipple hardened his mouth sucked, his other hand was on the other nipple twirling lightly around the areola to harden it then tweaking his fingers up the tip once it was hard. I moaned.

"They did nothing for me. They were not attached because it was business and I was not attached because I am asexual. Or at least," He kissed me and then rubbed our noses together, "I thought I was. Probably am when it doesn't concern you."

That was enough to spur me to action, and I rolled him over off the couch and onto the floor. I pinned his arms above his head and rest my feet on his legs keeping my own weight on my knees so he couldn't roll me over.

"My turn." I whispered in his ear. His eyebrow rose and he struggled to roll me over. I grinned down at him. "Not going to happen, Sherlock, it's my turn." Then I kissed him. We were lost in the kiss. It was new. It was nice. The brush of stubble on my cheek was exhilarating. Sherlock distracted me enough to roll me over. Now he was on top, still kissing me, and he lowered himself, balancing his weight on my chest and his knees. Our breathing turned harsh. The flood of heat from skin on skin was exhilarating. I rocked our hips together and our breathing quickened. We rubbed together faster, harder, lost in the sensations. I took my opportunity to roll Sherlock on to his back and begin to kiss down his chest. My mouth found his nipple and I made quick work spinning my tongue over his areola and sucking when his nipple hardened. I looked down at his chest when I had finished with both nipples.

Black bruises greeted me, jarring against the porcelain skin. I kissed back up his chest and placed a bite mark on the same place on Sherlock's neck as he had placed on me. His hands were running along my chest and back now. Memorizing the feel. I lifted my head to kiss him again, lightly, before trailing my tongue down to his navel. His back arched when my tongue started traveling below his navel to his waist band. With my hands I tugged off his pants and he raised his hips to aid me, I dragged down his silk boxers with my teeth, earning a hiss as his engorged member hit the air.

"Nice trick." Sherlock gasped.

I grinned down at him and couldn't help but give him a kiss.

I broke the kiss and came back down to his dick. I placed my lips at the top, giving him a soft kiss that earned me a hiss of enjoyment. Grinning again, I put his head in my mouth, my hand gently stroking at the base. My tongue swirled around his head. Sherlock moaned wantonly. I bobbed my head down an inch and sucked, hand working underneath. His back arched trying to push further into my mouth. I obliged by going down another inch. His breath became labored. I went up his dick, keeping pressure steady as I ran my tongue in circles around his head.

He reached to thread his hands in my hair. I pushed them away and he tangled his hands into his own hair. I was running my hand up and down his shaft as I looked up and grinned at him, "This is a new trick taught to me by an old dog."

His expression was bliss and confusion at once. I then took all but the last inch or so of his penis into my mouth. Going down onto my elbow to free a hand, I used my newly freed hand to pay with his balls as I bobbed my head up and down his shaft running from base to head.

Sherlock monad and bucked.

I removed my mouth and took a ball in my mouth, swishing it around. Sherlock was begging for more, calling my name. I obliged by taking his head in my mouth, running my tongue around his head as my hand stroked his shaft. I started to lick his head like a lollipop as I stroked his shaft quickly. A salty taste burst into my mouth as Sherlock called out a particularly loud, "John!"

I slithered up Sherlock's chest and stretched out across him giving him a light kiss. He linked his arms around my back. I rubbed our noses together and whispered, "Mine." in his ear. He responded by holding me tighter. He growled, "Mine." back at me.

That night we slept in his bed.

AN

I told you there be smut ahead. Hope this is acceptable.

Thank you for your beta!

What do you guys think of continuing this?

How about a 3 way with the boys? Perhaps Irene?

I actually just found out my High School boyfriend is gay. I hope this is how he realized it. I apologize for my therapy turning into your erotica but there you go.

In light of a rather angry review I feel the need the clarify my use of the word asexual to describe Sherlock. I stand firmly in the position that sexuality is on a sliding scale. I also find it is best to use the description that is closest to where you are on the scale. My Sherlock is only sexually interested in John. No one else. While my Sherlock had sex with sex workers it was because he was trying to be sexual and it did nothing for him except teach him some interesting skills. Asexuality as I under stand it describes someone with no sexual interest. They can be abstain in every way, or only be intreated in the abstract concept of sex, or only jack off, but simply are never interested in sex of any form with another person. On the scale of sexuality my Sherlock is closest to asexual because the only person he has a sexual interest in is John. Thus I describe him as asexual. To apply this in another way I would describe someone as gay if they are male and are primarily interested in having sex with men and are primarily interested in men in a sexual way. This does not mean that a gay man has no interest in women, just that they're interest and pleasure in woman is secondary to they're interest in men. In the context of bisexuality I would describe someone as bisexual if they were equally interested in male form as well as female form as well as deriving equal amount of pleasure from sex with ether gender. This is why my John is gay and not bisexual, he simply cannot get the same pleasure from sleeping with women as he can sleeping with men. I find the term bisexual to be extremely over used. This is something very personal to me because I've struggled to identify with any gender or sex. I do not mean to offend, but I am also not backing down from my definitions.


	4. The Morning After

Thanks again to my more than wonderful beta _**Sherlockedmyheart!**_

TK 4 The Morning After

We slept in his bed the rest of the night after getting up off the floor and a very long shower involving lots of scrubbing (each other) but very little had to do with getting clean.

After we finally got up after the events of 'The Great Game' and the revelations there after, I made breakfast just in time for noon and Sherlock was reading the paper. Actually Sherlock was reading just about every paper, some in English, and others…decidedly not.

Poking out of the stack what looked like Hindi was on one, another looked decidedly like Chinese, and a third had the swooping lines indicative of Arabic. I did not bother to question if he could read them. It would not surprise me in the least if he was fluent in each or if he knew nothing and only wanted to examine their ink.

A pot of tea sat between us. Sherlock's cup was sitting precariously near the edge, staining circles on some of his papers. He absentmindedly dropped in his fifth sugar cube. Why he insisted on sugar cubes I will never know. He looked quite the Victorian gentleman with his button up silk pajamas and formal dressing gown, paper in one hand tea in the other, all that was missing was the pipe...

"Would you like a fried egg considering it's a special occasion?" I asked.

"Ja." Sherlock replied, not bothering to glance up from his paper.

"Ja?" Sherlock shook the paper, and I finally noticed it was German. "And sausages?"

Sherlock grunted, putting down the German paper and taking up the '_Financial Times'_.

I busied myself making the toast and sausages. I peeked in the fridge to pull out the butter and to pick a jam. "Sherlock would you rather Orange Marmalade or Raspberry?"

There was no response but papers crinkling.

I chose the Raspberry; it was French and a particular favorite of Sherlock's. I pulled out a yogurt for myself and turned back to Sherlock who was busily cutting out articles from the papers. I sighed.

By the time I was setting up the food between us Sherlock had disappeared.

"Sherlock, come eat at once. I know you haven't since yesterday and you need to eat. There's no case so I'll not stand objections." The patient-must-listen-to-doctors voice coming out as per usual at breakfast.

A sarcastic; "Yes, sir." Drifted from his room as I sat down to my meal.

Sherlock reappeared and ate with gusto for once.

Six sausages, 4 eggs, two pots of tea and half a loaf of bread gone and I was satisfied with the meal. Sherlock had eaten more in one sitting than he probably had all week. I scraped the sides of my yogurt container, digging up the last bits of peach that had settled stubbornly at the bottom. I glanced in Sherlock's direction as I licked the spoon clean. He watched intently as my tongue came out to finish off what was in the little container.

"Hungry are we?" I said cheekily.

"After that meal, John," His eyes were locked on mine, "Only for you." The fiery gaze held and my spoon dropped to the floor.

We meet half way around the table and Sherlock quickly picked me up, he was about to place me on the table when I hissed, "Don't you dare break my crockery. It's the third set I've had to buy since living with you." He sighed and turned us around, placing me on one of the few clean areas of the counter.

I shoved his dressing gown down his shoulders. Then I tangled my hands in his hair and pulled him down to kiss him firmly. My PJ pants were untied, pealed off and shoved in a corner somewhere. My shirt had been discarded, left hanging over the tea pot between kisses, and the bite marks on my shoulders and neck and chest replenished.

From my seated position I wrapped my legs around Sherlock's thighs. During a particularly passionate kiss his hips bucked into my splayed legs, our erections pressing together even through his silken pajama pants. I quickly began to unbutton his shirt, kissing the skin each button reveled when it was undone. I let the silk material slide though my fingers to the floor as I looked at the porcelain chest and the ebony bruises I had left the night before. I growled.

Sherlock took this as his cue. He pulled my head to his chest and I wrapped my arms around him. He leaned down, lips skimming my ear and whispered, "Let me thank you for what you did for me last night?"

"On the floor, in the shower, or in the bed?" I asked trying to be cheeky even as my breathing became unsteady.

"The floor." He responded, nipping the top of my ear. Suddenly his mouth was at the top of my boxers, tugging them down. I lifted myself up on my hands to give him better access. He went slowly, each inch stopping to kiss the inner thigh reveled before his teeth were back on my boxers tugging them down. The hot breath tickled my thighs and dick frustrated me enough to try to buck.

In response, Sherlock held my hips down and kept going until he reached my knees and let the boxers fall. He stood up and grinned at me; leaning in to kiss me gently. He whispered in my ear, a little breathless, "An old dog taught me that new trick."

I giggled. His mouth found mine again and then began trailing light kisses down my neck and shoulders. Slowly he kissed down my chest stopping to lick and nip gently around the bruises he left behind the night before with his tongue. He reached my waist and slowly lowered his head to my, by now, painfully engorged member. He made sure to very slowly rub his stubble against my head. My breath caught in my thought. I couldn't think. My hands found his hair and balled into fists. The stubble, while rough against the silken skin of my penis, was intently pleasurable.

Sherlock was on his knees by now and placed my own knees over his shoulders. From this position he wrapped one of his hands around my shaft and kissed my head. Then his lips delicately engulfed my head and my mind went blank.

I breathed out, "Sherlock." And ran my hands through my hair.

His hand disappeared and I found myself with my entire shaft in his mouth. When he came back up he kept the head in his mouth and his hand reappeared with something sticky on it. He began to slowly run his hand down my shaft, then the pace quickened as his tongue danced on my head.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, please..." I panted though gasps of air.

His hand kept working as his mouth traveled to my balls, putting one and then the other in his mouth, rolling them with his tongue. Then his mouth travelled slowly up the side of the shaft to the head and he took me into his mouth again, bobbing up and down. He again came to my head and sucked working his tongue up and down as if licking a lollipop.

I arched my back and called, "Sherlock!" one last time before slumping back.

Spent.

Sherlock kissed me gently. I could taste the salt of semen, the essence of Sherlock and something else, something fruity. My eyes widened. No, no, he didn't... He didn't just... But I noticed the jar sitting next to me, the Raspberry Jam jar.

The French raspberry jam Sherlock loved so much. He had used it as lube. I couldn't help but giggle. He grinned at that. He then dampened a towel and cleaned us both up. While I had been distracted, he himself had climaxed and now his very nice pants were rather dirty...

Sherlock gently picked me up and carried me to the couch, snuggling up next to me, wrapping us both in blankets.

"That was a damn good thank you." I said, my voice still shaky.

"Your welcome my dear, John."

"Can we go to bed now?" I asked.

"Of course." He said, his voice low and sleepy. "But that would require moving."

We sat quietly and contemplated this. I glanced at the clock which read four. We continued to sit and contemplate, in silence, simply enjoying each others company. There suddenly came an angry buzzing sound. On the little table by the couch Sherlock's phone buzzed next to mine. I watched sleepily as Sherlock reached his impossibly long arm to grab the two phones. He handed me mine.

There was a text from Harry, and several texts from Lestrade, and one from Stamford. I checked that no clients had called or emailed. None had. I put down my phone. Sherlock sighed next to me.

"Mycroft and Lestrade want my attention."

"Oh, well tell them to sod off, you're mine today."

"I did." Sherlock said as he stood up and reached out his hand. I took it and together we strolled into his bedroom.

I froze and dropped his hand.

The walls were covered with news paper clippings, printed articles, photos, and lines drawn between all of them...

"Sherlock," I said trying to keep my voice steady, "What the hell is this?" I gestured around the room.

"Hmm?" Sherlock said as he scoured his dresser for new boxers. "Oh, you're referring to my web tracking Moriarty?"

"That's what this is?" My tone was unbelieving. "Did you do all of this, this morning when you disappeared? Is this what those papers were for?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, voice hard, "After what he had done to you... I started mapping out his organization long ago, but I did add to the web this morning. I notice a pattern in the crimes being reported so I followed it. Now I know this was cased by..." Sherlock's voice broke and his face went dark and he took a few seconds before he regained his composure. "This is Moriarty's organization. I am tracking the web back to the spider. I will crush him. I will, John, I promise you that."

I believed him.

"Perhaps now is not the time to be discussing this?" I said as I moved toward the bed.

"Of course." Sherlock said. He kissed me lightly and we got under the covers. He held me close and whispered in my ear, "Now that I have you I will never let go. Even if you want me to, even if you leave me. You are mine."

I smiled, "And you are mine."


End file.
